


Looking Up For Heaven (Waiting To Be Buried)

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Death Wish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Heartache, M/M, Missing in Action, Multi, Nightmares, Pining, Reunions, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Just after the beginning of the second world war, a young lieutenant meets an officer and falls in love. Call it fate, destiny or whathaveyou, it was always meant to happen and they were always meant to matter to each other.Unfortunately fate is often unkind and destiny cruel, and just because you're in love is no guarantee of anything especially in times of war.





	Looking Up For Heaven (Waiting To Be Buried)

_London 1944_

 

“Are you sure you’re up to this assignment?” Rackham asks, eyeing him.

“You know me,” Flint gives him a brusque smirk. “I’m always up for it.” He knows what Rackham means, and part of him wishes he had taken more care before he arrived at HQ to report on his most recent mission. The other part of him simply hadn’t cared. He gets the job done, and that’s all the matters in the end.

“You look as though you haven’t slept in two days.” Rackham tells him critically.

“Three, but who’s counting.” Flint itches to tell him to get the fuck on with it. All he needs is a new assignment and he can be out of this foul city and away in the air once more.

“Now look here, you’re not flying out again until you get some sleep and that’s an order.” Rackham points out at him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go get some kip and come back when you look less like fucking death warmed over.”

“4 hours max?” Flint bargains.

“Six.” Rackham tells him flatly. “Flint, do you even remember when I took you on…” He can’t even finish that sentence in the face of the sardonic look Flint gives him. Of course he remembers. As though he could ever forget such a thing.

Nearly three years ago now. Three years since he first overheard Rackham in a pub, going on about how he needed a man for a fucking suicide mission and couldn’t find one.

James McGraw, as he had been known in those days, had practically lurched out of his seat and gone over to rest his hands on the table in front of the man who had been speaking.

The man, a slender figure in a dashing uniform and svelte sideburns, gave him a look. “May I help you?”

“I’ll do it.”  James says, doing his best not to slur his words. He takes a deep breath wishing he hadn't drunk quite so much tonight. “I’ll fly your mission.”

“Ah, well, the thing is old chap, if you take this assignment, you really will have to die.” Rackham says apologetically. He nods to James as though that’ll be the end of it.

“I’ll do it.” James insists.

Rackham gives him a look and then turns to his companion, who’s a sullen looking red-haired woman in unmemorable clothes. _Spy_ , James thinks and immediately dismisses her as he knows he’s supposed to.

“What do you think?”

The redhead gives James a cursory look. “It’s not as though we’ve got fuckall else to work with.”

Rackham sighs. “Good point.” He examines James again. “I’ll tell you what. You sober yourself up and give it some thought, and if you still have no reason to live after all that, well then you come see me. How does that sound?”

“Shake on it.” James holds out his hand.

Rackham had shaken his hand with a bemused look and James had gone off to sober up. Two days later he reported to Rackham’s branch, which was tucked away in a corner of military HQ and he was told the details of the assignment. Rackham hadn’t been joking when he said he’d had to die. They needed a man who was presumed dead, or rather a man who didn’t exist.

“We don’t want people coming to look for you.” Rackham states bluntly. “So any wives, lovers, sisters, fathers who might be inclined to turn up weeping on the doorstep?”

“No one’s coming to look for me.” James says after a moment. It's true.

“Very well then.” Rackham says. "Oh, and we've given you a promotion as well!" 

So Lt. James McGraw had died and Captain James Flint was born.

 *  *  *

Now James stands outside Rackham’s office and waits for the rain to stop. He flicks open his lighter, eyes falling to the inscription engraved there like clockwork and then away. It’s the only constant in his life, and while it might be cheaper to give up smoking as tobacco is dear these days, he simply can’t bring himself to do so. The bright flick of the lighter as it catches, the brief burst of flame, the taste of tobacco on his tongue, the quick bite of it between his teeth, it all brings Thomas close again for a little while. Smoking is a way of peace, between the flame and the ash and he’s not alone for a little while. And then it’s gone and he has to return to the war. The war that’s always going because there is no end.

There are times and Flint knows how this sounds so he’s never voiced it aloud to another soul, that’s he almost grateful for the war, because if there was no war, and he had to live quietly after losing Thomas, he might just go insane. At least in the chaos, his own madness goes by relatively unnoticed, for the most part.

He pulls his collar up against the rain and goes off to get those six hours of sleep that he promised.

In his tiny flat, just a tip really, over a bookstore, not far from HQ for convenience sake, he puts the kettle on and lights another cigarette. He can feel the grime on his skin as he rubs a hand over his neck. A bath wouldn’t go amiss.

There’s a tin of beans, and one of dried fruit still on the shelf. He opens them and eats methodically, one bite after another, in-between even sips of strong tea. It fills the time as he's waiting for the bath to fill.

Sinking into the tepid water, he waits for it to warm his skin, for his skin to feel vaguely human again. Waiting as always for the scratching at his brain to fade, the whispers to withdraw and leave him in peace.

There is never any peace. Except in the moments of smoke and the clear blue focus of flying. He needs to be up in the air again. So he’ll go along with Rackham’s wishes and he’ll sleep for a few hours, so he can get his orders and be on his way again and this time, well maybe this time, he’ll get his wish.

He doesn’t voice his wish aloud either. He had just once while drunk and Miranda had slapped him across the face, making his ears ring and his cheek sting with the snap of it.

“Do you think I don’t understand? Do you think I don’t know what you feel?” She had cried, her eyes blazing at him. “But it’s cowardly to wish that and Thomas would be disappointed in you. I’m disappointed in you on his behalf.”

He’d hated her in that moment, but he had also known she was right. Thomas would have been sickened by his words. He’d gotten drunk and slept it off, and the next day he never spoke of it again, not to Miranda, not anyone living. Only when he spoke to Thomas alone, and it was rare that he did that aloud, that he allowed himself to be maudlin and honest.

 _I wish I were dead so that I could be with you_.

Thomas, who had been so full of life, even in the aftermath of it, that it felt impossible to believe he was dead. Even now. Years later. _Denial_ , Flint thinks vaguely, _that’s what they call that_. Even though it’s not denial. It’s not that he denies Thomas’s death, he’d seen the official confirmation himself after all, it’s just the feeling in his gut, the haunting of his soul. He can’t let Thomas go. It’s as simple as that.

He sinks deeper in the bath, staring dully at the faded wallpaper. His eyelids ache but it’s weariness beyond the need for sleep. The darkness seeps over him and he's drowning, slipping away under the water, as it rises up to meet him, the whispers crawling over his skin as he disappears into the darkening blue.

His legs twitch in the bath and he jerks awake, mouth sputtering in the water.

He’s awake now with the purifying clarity that goes beyond insomnia. He gets out of the tub and dries himself off, putting on a pair of clean trousers and an undershirt. He rinses out his uniform in the bath and hangs it up out of habit.

He makes another cup of tea and lies down on his bed, his thoughts drifting in their usual manner.

It’s almost as though he never even existed before the war. There’s that brief time with Thomas and that's all. He didn’t exist before then and he doesn’t exist now. James McGraw doesn’t at any rate; Flint exists. He closes his eyes, drawing a shallow, ragged breath.

The pub across the street is playing 'We’ll Meet Again,'; the same song playing in the club the first night he ever saw Thomas.

Flint closes his eyes and succumbs at last to the memory of yesterday.

 *  *  *

_London 1940_

James glanced over as the group of officers seated in the corner of the club burst out in another roar of laughter. He usually did his best to avoid officers. They were nothing but troublesome snobs for the most part, delighting in picking on the servicemen who dared cross their path. But tonight there was one among them who kept catching his eye no matter how hard he tried to focus his attention elsewhere.

He was a major, a tall blonde with a gorgeous smile and bright blue eyes, a little on the edge of the group, but still an officer. At least James thought his eyes were blue. He would have needed to be much closer to know for certain, but he wouldn’t let himself get too close. That would be sheer folly. Best to stay away from the officers altogether. The only times he’d gotten laid since he joined the army were with fellow men among the ranks. There was safety in that. As safe as you could be at any rate.

He ducked out as another song started before the girls started asking to dance again. They were pretty enough, but he was too distracted by the blonde to pay them the courtesy they deserved. It wasn’t their fault he wasn’t interested.

London was so dark in the blackout. It was nearly impossible to see a damn thing. James stood in the alley, blindly rummaging around in his pocket for his cigarettes. He finally found the pack, and stuck one in his mouth, but there was no sign of his lighter.

“Damn.” He felt through his pockets again with no luck.

“Need a light?”

He looked up to see a figure moving toward him through the dark. It was the blonde major, holding up a lighter.

James nodded and the blonde drew closer to him and flicked the lighter. James leaned in, watching the shadows flicker over the man’s palm like a shrine. He looked up and they were blue after all. Just as he had imagined, vivid and glorious and soft as the sky.

He stifled an appreciative murmur at the man’s beauty and drew back with a nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The blonde lit his own cigarette, still gazing at him. “Not in the mood for dancing I take it?”

James shrugged. “Not really.”

“So you couldn’t be tempted by one of the many wanting to dance with you?” the officer inquired off-handedly. “Even if the partners were only tolerable?”

“Possibly, I could have been by a fair of fine eyes.” James countered readily. He resisted the urge to add 'especially if they were blue.'

Surprise flickered in the blonde’s gaze and then he smiled. “Handsome _and_  literate, what a charming combination you are, lieutenant.”

James felt his heat rush over his cheeks. “Ah, thank you, sir?” That was blatant flattery and he didn’t know what to do with it. Did the man not know how that sounded, so flirtatious and open?

The blonde hesitated. “If I overstepped just there, please excuse me.”

“That depends.” James said slowly. “Were you flirting with me or not?” He felt daring, taking such a risk, but somehow it was easier in the dark. It was more dangerous than climbing into a cockpit and risking the skies, but oh, he wanted to.

There was faint hint of smile on the blonde’s lips that he could just barely make out. “Quite intentionally, yes.” There was a pause as the major hesitated again.

“Really.” James said skeptically, in spite of his desire. Officers, while human as the next man, didn’t usually take risks such as this.

“Yes.” The major cocked his head at him. “Do you not usually believe people when they say they’re flirting with you?”

“I’m usually more considerate of the risk.” James took another puff of his cigarette. “But then I’m not an officer.”

“Handsome, literate and rude, you must find yourself overwhelmed by suitors.”

James’s lip quirked. “You’d be surprised.”

“Do you truly object to me being an officer?” The blonde asked curiously.

“Not at all. You can go and be an officer to your heart’s content.” James shrugged. “I just don’t trust them, that’s all.” The words slipped out, but they enough.

The major frowned. “You’re very bold, lieutenant.”

“You flirted with me first.” James pointed out, “And I think we both stand to lose if you reported me for insubordination.” Or worse. Somehow the flirtatious mood that had been balancing between fun and danger was gone now. He’d ruined it. But he could have hardly pretended they were on even standing.

The blonde sucked in a breath and shook his head. “On that note, I believe I’ll say goodnight.” He turned away and then half hesitated before turning back. “If by some chance, you find yourself inclined towards seeing someone tonight, even if that someone were an officer, I have a room at the Claremont. Room 12.” He paused again and gave James one last fleeting look in the faint cigarette light, and then simply said. “I should very much like to kiss you, lieutenant.”

And then he turned and strolled away into the night, leaving James staring after him.

Had he meant that?

James finished his cigarette, musing on it. The major couldn’t have meant it. It had to have been a trick of some sort.

But he kept remembering the way the blonde’s eyes had strayed to his repeatedly throughout the evening though they were surrounded by others. How he had smiled when James accepted his offer of a light.

*  *  *

James stopped at a pub that was still open and had a whiskey, giving himself time to think. He knew where the Claremont was. It was a small private hotel.  It was also in the completely opposite direction of his flat. There was no excuse to even wander past it.

He looked at his watch. It was barely nine. If he went back to his flat now, there’d be nothing to do but read and listen to the wireless and think about missed opportunities.

If he went to the hotel…

James slung back his whiskey and thought, _what the hell._

If it was a trick he was already in trouble with his commanding officer. He’d gotten into a scrape last week, punching another soldier who had made a crude remark. It had been overheard and he’d been reprimanded but he didn’t care, not at the moment at least. This would just be another mark against him.

Somehow he found himself in front of the Claremont and going inside before he could change his mind.

He took the back stairs at the hotel, slipping past the bored night clerk. If it wasn’t a trick, he didn’t dare hope it wasn't a trick, but oh, if the man had truly been flirting with him. His hands were sweaty and his collar strained tight with tension. How James wanted him; to touch him. If it were true…

James drew a fast breath as he reached number 12. He stared at it. This was it then. He prepared himself to be humiliated, to have the door shut in his face, or the room full of officers there to laugh at his disgrace, to be repelled and ridiculed.

Then he knocked. One brisk knock upon the faded brown paint of the door.

There was no answer. Should he knock again? James hesitated, his hand raised and then he dropped it. No, better to simply slip away and never think of this again. He started down the hall towards the stairs and then behind him the door opened and he turned sharply to see the major standing there in his shirt-sleeves, gazing after him.

“You came.”

“I thought,” James flushed, “...well, it might be worth the risk in the end.”

The blonde leaned in the doorway, looking at him carefully. “And you were going to just go away without waiting? Without even knocking a second time?”

James shrugged, swallowing lightly. “I’m sorry, I…”

He stopped at the look in the man’s blue eyes, still hopeful, gazing at him. The way he had been clearly waiting for this, waiting for James, made James bold.

He took a step closer. “You have to understand my caution.”

“Oh, I do.” The blonde assured him. He took a step aside, clearly welcoming James through the door. “That’s why I’m even more impressed that you decided to show up.”

“Do you still think me rude?” James half grinned, stopping right on the doorstep. They stood so close to each other. James’s hands ached to reach for him, but he couldn’t let himself not yet.

“Please come in.”

“Answer the question.” James leaned in the doorway, mirroring his posture.

The man’s grin widened. “Yes. I find you rude and sarcastic and handsome, and I still very much want to kiss you. Does that answer your question?”

James nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

The blonde held out his hand. “Then come inside.”

James looked at his waiting palm and placed his hand there, and then let the blonde lead him inside the hotel room. He felt the warmth of his fingers in his as the blonde closed the door and looked at him with an intimacy that made James feel as though he were already stripped bare.

“What’s your name?”

“James.”

“I’m Thomas.” Thomas said and moved in to kiss him, still holding his hand.

James had been kissed before. He’d had experienced good kisses and poor kisses and kisses he didn’t particularly care for. This kiss was nothing like any he had before. Thomas’s kiss was that of returning home, beloved and welcome. He felt fire spiraling through his veins as Thomas drew him closer, James arched into the kiss, his lips sealed on Thomas’s, Thomas’s tongue entwined with his and James knew whatever happened after this, it would all be worth it for this kiss. 

They drew off at last with a shaky laugh.

“I hoped…” Thomas whispered, resting his forehead against James’s. “Well, I’d just _hoped_.” He pulled back, gazing at James with warmth and want in his eyes. “Please say you want to go to bed, James.”

“If you don’t fuck me after all this, I’m writing a letter of complaint.” James breathed and a slow smile spread over Thomas’s lips as he reached to kiss him again.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you?” Thomas murmured, sucking at the curve of his throat.

“About four hours.” James said. “If it’s been as long as I wanted to kiss you.”

Thomas chuckled, sending tendrils of warmth curling along James’s throat. He lowered his hand to brush it over James shirt, and then lower, brushing a nipple and then Thomas knelt between his legs, reaching for the button on his trousers.

James stared down at him in wonder, wordless as Thomas opened his trousers and drew him out. He licked a thick stripe down James’s shaft, licking all around the head, before finally taking him into his mouth.

James closed his eyes, unable to truly believe this was actually happening. It wasn't just that Thomas was an officer on his knees sucking him off like this; it was Thomas himself. He was so open, so eager to love and be loved. James felt himself wanting to protect the man from any future dangers he would encounter, and there would be dangers ahead. He knew that already.

James’s fingers moved to touch him, carding through Thomas's fair hair, striving to keep his hips from bucking too fast into Thomas’s mouth.

“Thomas.” He urged Thomas off to gaze down into his eyes, Thomas’s lips parted, wet with the sheen of his cock and James let himself brush his thumb over the bow of his lip before telling him the honest truth. “I don’t want to come until you’re in me.”

In answer Thomas surged up his body to kiss James on the mouth again. “Can you hold out that long?”

“That depends.” James snaked a hand down around to cup at his ass, pulling Thomas flush against his cock. “How long are you going to take?”

Thomas nipped his lower lip. “Get undressed and get on the bed.”

James did as he was told, stripping off his clothes quickly, then he lay back to watch Thomas move around the room with pleasure as he undressed.

And then Thomas was on the bed beside him, leaning down to kiss him again. James stifled a moan at the soft brush of his tongue in his mouth. He drew Thomas down further to him, Thomas’s other hand curling around the back of his head, pulling his mouth closer. Thomas’s other hand moved to his throat, thumb brushing over his collarbone, causing James to shiver deliciously into his mouth.

“Tell me you want this.” Thomas whispered.

James drew back, gazing up at him. He got a good look at Thomas’s eyes, full of clear, blatant desire. “No compunction against fucking lower servicemen?”

“No compunction against fucking officers?” Thomas countered.

James shook his head. “Not when they’re as pretty as you.” He felt dangerously alive, his blood racing in his veins. Here they were in Thomas’s hotel room, they would go to bed, and even if they never saw each other again, it wouldn’t matter, they would have had tonight.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Thomas murmured. He reached over to the side of the bed. “Here, spread your legs.”

James did, watching almost with amusement as Thomas slicked his fingers and eased a cautious finger into him. There wasn’t usually the time to take this care. He’d gotten used to getting off without it. But here, in this quiet room with Thomas’s body so close to his, James found he didn’t mind the delay.

Thomas’s fingers moved inside him and he closed his eyes, basking in the sensation, until he heard a faint huff of laughter.

James opened his eyes to see Thomas smiling at him.

“I think you’re ready.” Thomas cast a meaningful look down at the hot weight of James’s cock there between them, fully roused to hardness.

“Come on then.” James lay back with a challenge in his eye.

A challenge that Thomas accepted readily without hesitation as he positioned himself between James's spread thighs. He thrust deep into James with one intense stroke. James gasped, begging shamelessly with his body as he could no longer speak words. Thomas just gazed down at him, sinking deeper until he rested fully inside James, stretching him further and further until James thought he would burst. He groaned, straining to encompass all of him.

“Too much?” Thomas inquired.

“Just move…slowly at first.” James said a trifle unsteadily.

And Thomas did, easing a little back and then, letting James adjust, and then he started rolling his hips in languid motions that made James grasp the bed above his head, and then, once he had adjusted further, he moved to grip Thomas’s shoulders, holding on to Thomas for dear life.

They moved in time together and James was completely there, aware of the sweat on his skin, the firm press of Thomas’s fingers holding him, the thrust and stretch of Thomas’s cock within, Thomas above him, gazing down at him with hungry eyes, wanting more, making James arch and gasp until at last they both came and collapsed in a sweaty heap upon the bed.

James laid there panting, gazing at the ceiling as though he'd never seen it before. Finally when he had the strength to do so, he turned over to look at Thomas and kissed his mouth. It had been so worth it to dare to knock upon that door. 

“Do you have to go?” Thomas asked drowsily.

“Not still morning.” James told him. He’d receive his orders in the morning and he was expecting to leave London within the week. This has been the perfect night for this.

“That’s good.” Thomas drew in a small sigh. “We’ll have the night then.” He buried his face in James’s hair and murmured, “It’s just as well.”

James turned his head to ask what he meant and then Thomas kissed him again and he forgot all about those quiet words he’d barely heard to begin with.

*  *  * 

_Germany 1941_

 

_My dearest James,_

_I find myself quite nostalgic these days. Perhaps it’s because it’s more pleasant to dwell on happier times than the daily circumstances of being in a prison camp, but nevertheless, even after the war is over, (and it will be over one day) I like to think I will still be thinking of you so constantly that I will have no time to be nostalgic about the past._

_I hope it’s not presumptuous. Is it presumptuous? Not nearly a year since we first met. That’s not very long in the span of all of time, and yet…I know I loved you so soon after we met. I love you now. I will always love you._

_They read our letters, I am aware of what I’m saying, but I happen to be in one of the camps where they’re holding officers to exchange. I don’t expect I will be here long. They’ve already sent out missives to London on scheduled exchanges. I could very well be home in time for Christmas. I’ll find a sprig of mistletoe and kiss you under it until your cheeks are red with embarrassed laughter. Forgive me, my love, I do enjoy teasing you._

_Do you remember the night we met? Of course you do. But you didn’t see it from my perspective. You didn’t see the look in your eyes as I approached you in that alley, so hopeful, yet so wary. I would have taken you in my arms then and there and sworn my allegiance to you straight away, but I thought it best to start slow._

_I wish I could hold you now. It’s cold here. The cold makes me feel dull as though I can barely think. The rations are fine. My spirits are well enough, I assure you, but the days are long and the nights colder still._

_Write to me, my truest, dearest love._

_I miss you._

_(That goes without saying, and yet here I am, saying it still)_

_Love,_

_Thomas_

**Author's Note:**

> "We'll meet again  
> Don't know where  
> Don't know when  
> But I know we'll meet again some sunny day  
> Keep smiling through  
> Just like you always do  
> 'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away"


End file.
